


Softer

by OnlyOneWoman



Category: Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Disaster Shades Alvarez, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Denial of Feelings, During Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, Fear, Ficlet, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Kinda, Love, M/M, Reunion Sex, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22739266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: Just a little snippet of how I think their first meeting alone after Comanche got out of prison should've been like ;) It's my first story for this fandom and it was honestly just a spur of the moment because I realised I'd somehow forgotten about this beautifully disastrous ship.No intention on dissing ShadyMariah but I'm just so not into any straight pairings at all no matter the characters, just so ya'll know. Mariah was a great character and her relationship with Shades really interesting.
Relationships: Shades Alvarez/Darius "Comanche" Jones, Shades Alvarez/Mariah Dillard (Mentioned)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	Softer

”Dammit, you’ve really stepped up, B.”  
“Business is good. Mariah’s getting Harlem in good shape, Che.”  
“Yeah, I can tell.”  
  
Che is eyeballing him, subtly, but Hernan knows that gaze, crossing the line of his shades and when they smile, easy and superficial, it feels way more than it should. He’s not sure what.  
  
They end up with drinks and a steak dinner you share with a good friend or a brother, no funny looks from the waiter or the other guests. Just two guys having a good time, catching up and sharing smiles and looks saying nothing. They talk business, in code of course, and Hernan listens to what’s happened on the inside, ignoring what’s going on inside himself and the friend he’s not comfortable calling _brother._  
  
“Where are ya, B?”  
“Huh?”  
  
Hernan looks up from his barely touched steak, medium rare with mint sauce and the wine that remains in his glass because he’s lost, here on the outside of so much of what once were parts of him he wouldn’t function without.  
  
His phone sounds and he looks at it before dismissing the call and turning it off. Che raises his eyebrows.  
  
“She’ll have your head on a spike.”  
  
He doesn’t say her name and for a second Hernan is tempted to pretend it wasn’t her. Che wouldn’t be fooled, though, and Hernan puts the stupid linen napkin on the table. None of them will be eating, they’re not hungry for this, but starved of what was supposed to be kept locked up. Literally.  
  
“You done?”  
“Sure.”  
  
They pay the bill, leaving a tip that doesn’t indicate they barely touched the food and the only thing left to keep the seams of Hernan intact, are the shades that can’t shield him from Che because they were one before Hernan became Shades and Darius Comanche and what used to be an inside thing only, broke out.  
  
When they step into Hernan’s car, they still don’t speak because it’s not necessary, they know who they are, but also dangerous because they have no idea where they’re heading except for Hernan’s apartment. Che may need a place to stay for now, right?  
  
They’re not lying to themselves, just pretending they are.

***

Darius watches the way Hernan drives, gaze safely tucked in behind the shades of a far more exclusive brand than the ones that gave him what used to be a stupid nickname and now is the one of the right hand of the queen of Harlem. The cuffs of his shirt have cufflings too and there’s a scent around him, of money and the kind of power that makes you close to untouchable. The only thing betraying him, are his whitening knuckles around the steering wheel.  
  
He wasn’t always this good at keeping his mask in place and to Darius it looks like his friend is holding onto it like the steering wheel like it’s the one thing to keep him in control.  
  
They still don’t talk as Hernan parks outside his place, behind walls and locks that aren’t Seagate and no one notices them as they leave the car and walks up to the house that Hernan may or may not call home or just a place to crash, a façade or something else entirely. He’s stepped up, yes, but to what? There are four walls, just as Seagate, only not with bars and bunks and when Hernan turns the light on, it shines on equally impersonal surfaces as in prison, only it’s his own and the shine comes from money and not poorly scrubbed concrete floors.  
  
And he still loves Mariah, but his heart belongs to Darius, has since they were fourteen and idiots with hormones running wild and no plans except for the usual _something better than this shit, B._ They were little shits back then, probably imagining something better being money and this shit not being money, because they were so close, too close to understand that brother just wasn’t the right name for the fluttering stomachs and sudden tightened chests.  
  
When the gate is safely locked behind them, as is the door and they’ve entered the gloomy living room that looks like something from a magazine instead of a space for actual living people, Darius comments on how proper the house seems and just when Hernan is ready to bite back, to take it as a little insult and say something about taste and class and how you can be more than a gangster, he meets Darius’ eyes, too soft for the world they live in and just like that, time once again seems pointless and bearing no real meaning.  
  
***

Che tastes like he remembers, lips warm and it’s too easy, Hernan thinks as they’re falling into each other, to this thing that first was just a drunken highschool experience, an excuse to practise kisses and how one excuse lead to another, to hands wandering off and how it kept happening but was never named. Kept to the darkness and then, at Seagate, intensified.  
  
“Fuck, B…”  
  
The sigh sends warmth along his spine of a sort he’d forgotten about and the shades come off as easy as the expensive suite jacket, not thrown or teared like the orange jumpsuits but quickly put away on the coffee table where no one ever has coffee and the comfy sofa he only uses to fall asleep on when he’s alone.  
  
In here, he’s always alone and he refuses to acknowledge the tug inside, screaming of how much he’s missed this, how hollow that place neither Mariah nor power can fill has become without Che.  
  
They’ve never had much words for this hunger, this need that has sprung from something they were too young to put a name on when it started. The friendly touches and gazes in the open, nothing to hide at first – you’re my nigga’ and I’m yours, man – and the smiles that just were, the wordless connection, the closeness that intensified with rough games and, when they got older, drunken nights. Girls, of course, and not few of them, but in the end, they’ve always reached out for each other, if only with a gaze.  
 _  
Rivals? Ain’t got none._  
  
***

Darius hears the half-choked little moan when he presses Hernan to the empty wall and gets a leg in between his friend’s, like they did the last night together in Seagate, but on the narrow bunk and with too many eyes and ears too close to make the best of it. Hernan is rock hard and bites onto Darius’ collar bone as he’s pushed up the wall, not quite lifting but Darius is a little broader and his friend makes another sound. It’s never been confirmed with words, of course, but Hernan who lives on moving people like pieces on a gameboard, fucking loves to be hold like this, not being pushed but kept firmly in one place and it makes Darius dizzy with power, with need and the love that isn’t purely brotherly, that no one, not even Mariah, can hold the untouchable Shades like this.  
  
Hernan’s eyes are closed and he has a strained look on his face, like he’s in pain and Darius eases the grip, loosening his hands.  
  
“You alright, B?”  
“Of course.”  
  
 _Shades_ looks straight at him, eyes lost in that way that makes Darius wanna hold him close and whisper nonsense, but that’s not happening. Not when _Shades_ is present, keeping Hernan back with the tight, tight leash that robs him of air and space. And these days, there’s another one holding the leash along with Shades and it’s not Darius.  
  
Darius puts a hand on Hernan’s cheek, bending into his forehead, just holding him there where they can’t really pretend shit, where there’s no space for _Shades_ and his scared friend widens his legs to give space for Darius to come closer without using words. To yielding without being weak and who are they trying to fool, really, when they start rutting, falling back into each other’s lips and _you taste like I remember, B, just like you used to, Che.  
  
_ ***

With Mariah, he’s the comforter. The one to make her feel good and uplifted and he loves that shit, fucking loves it, alternating between kneeling and leading, between assuring and complying, but it’s also strenuous and he loves her but she can’t say his name like Che. Can’t lead her gently without fear or manipulation and Hernan can’t follow without suspicion and awareness.  
  
When Che moves him backwards to the closed bedroom door, Hernan lets Shades slide away to the darkness where he belongs – at least right now – and he fumbles with the handle, clumsily opens the door and chuckles when Che’s weight drags them both down on the neatly made queen sized bed and how his fancy suits gets creased and messy before they finally separate a moment to get down to business.  
  
***

They’ve done this plenty and yet not at all. Not like this, Darius thinks as he almost violently kisses his best friend. Hernan is getting lax underneath him, kept in place like he used to love in the past and they’re hard and desperate, no better than when they were hormone rushed teens who were too drunk and horny to let the fear of being called faggots come in the way. Inside they couldn’t do it like this, it had to be kept on the downlow for many and obvious reasons but here they’re free to choose their hideout themselves and with it the circumstances for whatever this is.  
  
Love, perhaps. Darius looks at him, lips slightly parted.  
  
“You got stuff?”  
“Yeah…”  
  
They don’t have to name that either and Darius moves to let Hernan worm his hand into the bedside table for lube and condoms and Darius doesn’t comment, Hernan doesn’t explain, it is what it is and maybe there’s a hint of insecurity showing, the dangerous kind, when he lays down, cock leaking over that taut stomach and maybe Darius knows, singing inside because _she_ might be bossing him around and Hernan might love it but she can’t give him _this_ except in a latex form and it’s not enough.  
  
 _She’s_ not enough for him and they both know it and will never address it. It is what it is and their tense bodies, flat where she’s curvy, hard where she’s soft, slot together easy as breathing and when Hernan starts to turn, Darius keeps him in place.  
  
“Like this, B.”  
  
 _Because this time I wanna see your face.  
  
_ And Hernan scoffs, rolling his eyes as a cover now as his sunglasses are put away, because inside was inside and there are walls to cover them now too, right?  
  
***

He can’t make himself look when Che’s curls slick fingers inside him, because he’s spent too much time forcing himself not to see him before him when Mariah’s skilled hands work various toys inside him. She knows but what he shows her and what he shared with Che is out of reach for her, for the life they’ve carved out in Harlem.  
  
Because he loves her, but it’s Che who loves _him_ and right now, in this sliver of what can’t be, Hernan can pretend that nothing else exists. He’s a mess of the embers he’s never tried to put out, just left glowing in peace when the man who’s more than a brother and so, so much more than the second best option in a world with bars cutting off human contact.  
  
He’s loved Che longer than he’s loved anyone and it scares the living hell out of him, because of how that love makes him soft and pliable in a way that requires no dominance, no game of power, no tricks or negotiations. For how it makes him feel protected and lost, safe while looking over his shoulder for the disgust that could end everything they’ve become. And while he can’t make himself look, he’s not keeping quiet either as Che’s wicked fingers work their way into him.  
  
He’s not let go of Shades’ persona in months and now it shatters and it’ll take effort to put it back together but fuck it, fuck that shit, fuck everything because being fucked by Che is what he’s refused to let himself dream of since he got out of Seagate. Che thrusts carefully, like he’s trying to make sure not to miss a single beat and Hernan really should tell him to stop fucking around and get on with it but without his shades or protective darkness, laying all naked and vulnerable underneath him, he can’t find the words.  
  
He may or may not be grateful for that.  
  
***

Fucking Hernan is like coming home, Darius can’t help but thinking. His friend is a hot, slick vice around him, his legs shaky and he’s trying to hide it by swirling them around Darius’ back, as if that makes it any less obvious than the hopelessly lost little moans slipping out of his mouth with every thrust or the leaking cock smearing and grinding between their bodies.  
  
They’re clinging onto each other, really, whatever cool they had is lost and gone because of how easy this is, how natural it feels to just slot into this place, their place together where labels matter as little as rivals.  
  
It’s been a long time for both of them, because no matter who they’ve fucked during their parting, it’s not the same, no one is ever comparable and _she_ will never hear Hernan break like this, will never know how he gives himself over without a show, eyes closed hard, mouth half-opened and the little wrinkles from the strain that lets loose when Darius starts stroking him, just like he knows how Hernan likes, how he needs to be touched the most.  
  
It’s just as it was on the inside or in any of their rooms during their teenage years with curtains pulled and doors locked because sometimes bars and darkness is freedom and not prison and secrets something to be shared with another person.  
  
Sometimes, two hearts simply beat better with each other and somewhere in the world there’s probably something more beautiful than the way Hernan cries out _Che_ and falls into him, but Darius wouldn’t know where to start looking for it and he holds his love as close as he can when the high hits him and takes him to a place where they’re both untouchable to anyone and anything but themselves.  
  
***

“You aint gonna…?”  
“No.”  
  
Che gives him a look that means _it’s your funeral, baby_ because sometimes the unspoken is clear as if written in stone and Shades is lurking in the corners, or rather staying guard, looking around under his sunglasses for any threats against this thing that was supposed to be a stupid teenage experiment, then a drunken foolishness and finally a replacement for women, a necessity to remain sane and human.  
  
He’s not gonna answer, not now, not while he’s this vulnerable. Mariah can wait, she has to, because right now it’s Hernan and Che that need Shades to stand guard. So Shades waits for the tone to die before taking the phone and turning it off, putting it back on the floor and turns his back to the bed, as to let the men their be alone.  
  
Hernan smiles.  
  
“She can wait.”  
“Yeah?”  
  
Che cocks his head slightly, raised on his elbow while letting a finger brush over Hernan’s furrowed brow, softening it.  
  
“Rivals?”  
“Aint got none…”  
  
For once, it feels true.


End file.
